Che Et

a al

uM

CY.

A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERATURE AND NEWS.

ww

EDWARD WHELAN]

This is true Liberty, when Free-born Men, having to advise the Public, may speak free —-EURIPIDES.

a oe

[EDITOR ax» PUBLISHER.

Vou. VI.

CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, MONDAY, JANUARY

“

19, 1857. No. 28.

Sel

(aT ee oe meow te mee

Literatrre.

THE POOR MAN’S GRAVE,

No sable pall, no waving plume,

No thousand torchlights to illume ;

No parting glance, no heavy tear,

Is seen to fall upon the bier.

There is not ene of kindred clay

To watch the coffin on its way ;

No mortal form, no human breast

Cares where the pauper’s bores may rest.

‘Dare 1 murder that angel? The thought pierces my heart like a dagger,’ said the old man, sobbing.

‘Sir, you must have a bottle of wine with me: I see a tavern open yonder. Come, you must tell me your history ; | and if you have no objection, I will then tell you mine. But this much I say at once—there is no occasion for you to leap into the river. I ama rich, a very rich man; and if things | really are as you represent, your daughter will no longer have to work, and you shall not starve.’

The old man allowed himself to be dragged along by his companion. Ina few minutes, they were seated at a table in the tavern, with full glasses before them, and each examin- ing curiously the features of the other.

Refreshed and comforted by the effects of the wine, the old man began thus :

‘My history is soon told. Iam a mercantile man; but fortune never favored me. I had no money myself, and I loved and married a poor girl. I could never begin business on my ownaccount. I took a situation as book-keeper, which it beld until I beeame useless from age, and younger men

were preferred to me. Thus my circumstances were always circumscribed, but my domestic happiness was complete. | My wife was an angel of love, kindness, and fondness, good | and pious, active and affectionate ; and my daughter is the true image of her mother. Butage and illness have brought

But one deep mourner follows there,

W hose grict outlives the funeral prayer ; He does not sigh—he does not weep,

But will not leave the sodless heap.

"Tis he who was the poor man’s mate, And made him more content with fate ; The mongrel dog that shared his crust

Is all that stands beside his dust.

He bends his listening head as though He thought to hear a voice below ;

He pines to miss that vuice so kind, And wonders why he’s left belind. The sun goes down, tlie night is come,

“ The misfortune is not very great.”

“ Oh, my poor, poor father, what shall I hear ?”

The young man seemed to observe the visible marks of anxiety with great interest; then looking round the room, he said: * Do not be frightened, my dear girl; it is nothing of great importance. Your father met last night an old ac- quaintance, who invited him to a tavern. They had some wine together; but when the landlord came for bis bill, your father’s friend had decamped, and left him to pay the score. He had not sufficient money for this; and now the man will not let him go until he is paid, and declares that unless he gets his money, he will send him to prison.”

“To prison!—my father to prison!” exclaimed the girl. “Can you tell me how much the bill comes to ?”

“ Three florins and a half.”

“QO, God!” sighed the girl, “all I have does not amount to more than one florin; but I will go at once to Madame Berg, and beg of her to advance me the money.”

* Who is Madame Berg ?”

“The milliner for whom I work.”

But if Madame Berg does not advance the money—what then?” The girl burst into tears.

“Tam much afraid she will refuse. one florin, and she is very hard.”

“For what purpose did you borrow the money you owe

I already owe her

THE JEW’S TREASURE.

“ Bring forth the Jew Oglandi, that we may pass sentence of death upon him !”

The order was speedily obeyed, and soon an old, very old man, was led into the presence of Jussuf Bashaw, who was seated on his little throne in the audience hall of his palace. His form, now bent and feeble, depended on a staff to support his tottering steps—age had impaired his strength and bent him low, but the mind and will retained their firwuess, opposing time and trouble.

But what was the man’s crime? Why he was a Jew--- known to be a rich one—and the bashaw wanted his money, which the Jew would not give.

* Jew,” said the bashaw, “ reports have reached our ears that thou art in possession of great wealth.”

* [ have heaps of gold,” promptly replied Oglandi.

* We were in need of money,” continued the bashaw, “ and commanded that our Hasnadar Glande should dispatch a message to you for a loan of two hundred pieces of English gold; but Mamet, our chief officer of the treasury, mistook our meaniug, and sent to your house a party who slew your children, immured you in a cell, inflicting tortures upon you. We inquired the reason of all this, and were told that you had

: 5 bcd ras attempted the life of a soldier, and so ordered your tortures e needs no fouod—he seeks nome ; intial aa aieien thie a a imtnbhe mx dete uns O99 ° as

H ” * a : ‘ saa es hoe | me Ps the last extremity, and my conscience revolts against her? to be renewed. ‘This day we have Jearned your innocence, bat, stretched up ee GPCAMICSS OCU, ee . so i. . . i a .% a . Sais : : i "4

With doleful es et test ths Read the idea of the best child iu the world sacrificing herself for The girl hesitated to reply. and now think of your restoration to freedom and——”

an old useless fellow. I cannot have much longer to live ;

aud Lhope the Lord will pardon me for cutting off a few |

“ You may trust me; 1 take the deepest interest in your misfortunes, and I sincerely wish [ could assist you; but I

‘* Upon what condition ?” hastily interrupted the Jew, who,

The passing gaze may coldly dwell ; j it pa y wis 4) though knowing that all the bashaw had uttered was an un- On all that } lished marbles tell : aays or weeks from my life, in order to preserve or prolong | am only a poor clerk myself. Tell me for what purpose did truth, still pretended to believe every word. For temples bailt on churchyard earth ihat of my dear Bertha.’ you borrow that florin ?” The bashaw did not give a direct auswer, but soon said : Are claimed by riches more than worth. ‘You are a fortunate man, my friend.’ exclaimed the) “ Well, my futher is very weak, and occasionally requires} + Report says that you have concealed silver, gold, and But who would mark _ undimm - “ young man; ‘ I have never seen a more fortunate one. What strengthening ; I borrowed that money to geta quarter of a jewels, enough to make, in the coin of this regenvy, the sua ; wh ra a wa ai 3 al ei pox ve, you call your misfortune, is sheer nonsense, and can be cured | fowl ones : : of eighteen hundred thousand yasticks. Have you so much Sine luve and fa.th to guard his grave? at once. To-morrow [will make my will, and you shall be) _“ Under these circumstances, I fear Madame Berg will not | wealth 2” aaa aad Bal ‘he heir of all my possessions, and to-morrow night i will| give you any more. Here is one florin, bat that is all I} « Yes. and more!” ee aoa : “i take the leap from the Main Bracke alone. Bat before | possess. Have you any valuables upon which we could raise} « Ajlah akbar!” said the bashaw, stroking his long beard ee nat leave this world, I must see your Bertha, for I am anxious) some money?” Bertha considered for a moment. with delight. ‘ You would like your freedom ?” he added, (From Chambers’s Journal for December.) to look upon one who is worthy the name of 2 human heing.; “ [ have nothing,” said she at length, “but my poor inquiringly. TIE LEAP FROM THE MAIN BRUCKE. ‘ But, sir, what ean have ma ley: sou ha y xt this ea ‘inotber’s pray v-book. On bor death-bed, she cntrontan me * As the eagle loves to soar aloft in air, the wild beast to . ave ? said the old man, moved with compassiou. j wot io part with it, there is nothing in the world L hold more | roam unmolested through the forest, so have I always loved FROM THE GERMAN OF LUDWIC STORCH. ‘[ believe it was my father’s wealth. Iam the only son} saered than her memory and the promise I gave her; but! my freedom.” It was past midnight—the lHehts on the stene bridge which | of one of the richest bankers in Frankfort: when T mention) still, for my father’s sake, I must not hesitate.” Witha/ « You may have liberty on one condition, Jew.” crosses the river Main at Frankfort were still burning, my name, you will at once be convinced of the truth of my | trembling hand, she took the book down from the shelf. ‘“ Name it.” though the fuetsteps of passenzers had died away for so ne | assertion. My father died five years ago, and left me the} Q, sir,” said she, “during many a sleepless night I have “ You have much wealth!” was the significant reply.

; . i . ° . ’ . —_ >| approache | the | heir te an immense fortune. From that moment, every one)

been accustomed to enter the secret thoughts of my heart on

y ” “ Ves,

tin 7 is pavement—Wren & young Wah

* . a ye town with hasty strides. At the sate time, | that hus come in contact with me bas endeavoured to defraud | the blank leaves at the eud of the book. 1 hope no one will! — You could live like a prince upon half of it ?”

nn th r mau udvaneed in 3 mars was ecCming towards him ind deceive me. I was a child in innocence, trusting and | ever know whose writing they are; will you promive me that ?” “T could.”

{rom Sachserhausen, the well known suburb on the opposite | confiding; my education had not been neglected, and | “ Certainly, my dear Beitha, Do not alarm yourse:f’; I| “Give me the other half, and you shall have your freedom.” | side of the river. The two had not yet met, when the latter | £ possessed my mother’s loving heart. I endeavourel to as- | will take care that your seerets shall not be profaned. But ‘And will you not harm me any more?” asked the Jew . turned from his path, and went towards the parapet, with sociate myself in a union of love and friendship with good | now get ready, that we may go.” eagerly.

and generous people, but I found only hypocrites and | imposters, who pretended friendship for po other purpose | than to partake of my wealth, and enjoy themselves at my ‘xpense. My friends, or rather the villains whom L mistook for friends, and to whom 1 opened my heart, betrayed me, | and then laughed at my simplicity; but in time [ gathered | experience, and my heart was filled with distrust. I was betro- thed toa rich heiress, possessed ofall fashionable accompani- ments; [ adored her with enthusiasm; her love, I thought, | would repay me for every disappointment. But { soon saw | that she was nothing more than a proud fool, who wished to | tt have | make me her slave, and yoke all other men besides to her | triumphal chariot. I broke off the engagement, and selected | or but charming girl—a sweet innocent being, as L

Alas! L found

the evident intention of leaping from the bridge into thc Man Brucke.

Tae young man followed bim qnickly and Jaid hold of hia.

‘Sir,’ said he, + 1 think you want to drown yourself?’

‘ You think right, sir? Bat what is that to you?

* Nothing at all: [ was ouly going to a-k you todo me the favor to wait a few minutes, and allow me to join you. Let us draw close to each ether, and, arm in arm, take the leap tugether. The idea of making the leap with a perfeet stranger, who has chanced to come for ihe same purpose, is really rather interesting. Indeed, I have not abything so exciting { some time; and L ehould: thought that, mi wy jast hour, so ple want «nm occurrence would happen. years L have not made} a p

es thought, who would be my life’s own angel. which must be my lust. I assure you, L do not remember | ber one day bidding adiea with tears and kisses to a youth having ever spent so many words about any request whare uee> whom she loved; she had accepted me for my wealth only. | {

experienced

Come, sir, for many

, ; ; . a request to any human being: do not refuse me this one,

So saying. the young man held out his hand : his companion | My peace of mind vanished ; I sought diversion in travel ;

took it, and he then continued, with a kind of enthusiasm :| everywhere L found the same hollowness, the same treachery, ‘So be it: arm in arm—and now let us be quick about it;|the same misery. In short, [ beeame disgusted with life, it is really charming to have a human heart near me in these|aud resolved to put an end this night to the pitiable farce.’ last moments, I do uot usk what you are, good or bad—| ‘Unfortunate young man,’ said the other with tears of come, let us down.’ sympathy, ‘how deeply L pity you. 1 confess I have been

The elder of the two, who had at first been in so great a| more fortunate than you. _[ possessed a wife and a daughter, hurry to end his existence in the waters of the river, now| who came forth pure avd immaculate from the hand of the restrained the impetuosity of the younger. Creator. The one has returned to Him iu the whiteness of

* Stop, sir,’ suid he, while his weary eye tried to examine! her soul, and so will the other.’ ’ the features of his companion as well as the flickering light| ‘ Will you give me your address, old man, and permit me of the nearest lamp would allow—* Stop, sir; you seem to/ to visit your daughter, to-morrow? But you must also give me too young to leave life in this way. I am afraid you! me your word of honor that you will] not inform her, or insi- are committing arash act; fora mao of your years, life must} nuate to her in any manner whatever that I am a rich man.’ still have bright prospects.’ The old man held out his hand,

‘ Bright prospects !—in the midst of rotteaness and deeay,| ‘I give you my word; [ am anxious to convince you that falsehood and deceit, vice and corruption! Cowe, let us|I have spoken the truth. My name is Wilhelm Schmidt, make an end of it.’ and here is my address,’ giving him, at the same time, a bit

‘And so young! Your experience must have been very | of paper which he drew from his pocket. sad to make you consider a}l creatures which had the human| ‘And my name is Kari T , L am the son of Anton form a brood of serpents.’ T . Take these bank-notes, but only on condition that

« Oh, serpents are noble beings compared with men ; they | you do not leave this bouse until [ fetch you from it. Waiter! follow the impulses of their nature; they are no hypocrites, |a bedroom for this gentleman. You require rest, Herr bearing virtue on their lips and vice in their hearts.’ Schmidt. Good-night. To-morrow you will see me again ;

‘I pity you from my heart; but there certainly are many | but under whatever circumstances this happen, do not forget exceptions to this miserable rule.’ the word you have given me,’

‘I have found none,’ suid the young man. The name the young man had mentioned, as well as the

‘Then it may be a consolation, though a poor one. that} large sum, struck the old man with astonishment ; but before you have found one in this solemn hour. However much|he could recover himself, his companion had left the house, men are given to falsehood, there are very few who lie in the|and the waiter came to light him to his bedroom, where, hour of death, within sigbt of eternity. But for me, I have| wearied and worn out, he soon sank into a profound sleep. never told a falsehood in my life, and [I would not for| In one of the narrow and ill-lighted streets of Sachsenhau- anything in the world enter upon the dark road with a lie|sen, in an attic of a lofty and unsightly house, sat a pretty upon my lips; and therefore, when I tell you I am not a | dlondine, about twenty years of age, busily employed with her villain, as you seem to think me, but an honest and upright | needle. The furniture of the room was poor, but clean and man, [ am telling you the simple, unvarnished truth.’ ‘tasteful; ihe girl’s whole dress would not have fetched many

* Indeed !—that is interesting, And so I must meet the | kreutzers; but every article was as neat, and fitted her as well, only honest man ever [ saw in the world, when I am on the as if it had cost hundreds. Her fuir locks shaded a face point of leaving it, and in his own company!’ brightened by a pair of eyes of heavenly blue, which bespoke

\ ‘ Let me go alone, and do you remain here. Believe mea peaceful mind and pure soul. ‘The spirit of order, modesty Before she could utter a word, the three were seated in the | searched the place and can find uo mouey, Thoa hast deceived there are many good and honest people who could render life | and cleanliness reigned in everything around her. Her fea-| carriage, driving away at aquick pace. The carriage stopped | us.” / charming for you. Seck them, and you are sure to find| tures were delicate, like those of one nobly born; her eyes| before a splendid house in the best partof Frankfort. They| “I did not say my wealth was there.” / them.’ betrayed sleeplessness and anxiety and ever and anon a deep | were received by a number of domestics, who conducted them! “ You wished us to believe as much.” - ‘Well, the first one I have found already. But if life! sigh rose from the maiden’s breast. Suddenly, steps were | to apartments decorated in the most costly style. “T said that L thought the place a good one for that pur- presents itself to you in hues so bright, 1 am surprised you heard on the staircase, and her fice lighted up with joy: she!“ This is your mistress,” said T to the servants ; “ and | pose.” tatiat : ’ should wish to leave it.’ | listened, and doubt seemed to overshadow her brow. Tico her commands you bave henceforth te obey. My darling} “ And then you did not bury any of your riches there ?” / ‘Ob, L am only a poor old sickly man, unable to earn came a knock at the door, which mode her tremble so much wife,” said he then, turning to Bertha, “ [am Karl T | “ No—tor the next day I found a better place.” 7 anything, and who can endure no longer that his only child, | that she almost wauted the courage to say “ Come in,” A one of the wealthiest men of this city. This house is yours,; “ And where is it ?” y ei ab angei of a daughter, should work day and night to main- young man, shabbily dressed, entered the room, aud made a _and these servants will attend on you. I hold a pledgefrom; “ It is where neither you nor your bloodthirsty followers r

tain him, and even sometimes to procure him luxuries, sir, to allow this longer, [ must be a tyrant, a barbarian.’ | ‘ What, sir!’ exclaimed the other, almost terrified, + you live here ?”

No, | low but awkward bow.

and the required sum was wade up.

you that riches will not corrupt your heart. | «] beg your pardon, Miss,” said he, “ does Her Schmidt | the prayer-book of your poor wother, written by your own | ‘hand: ¢ [f thou wert to give me all the treasures of the world, that he had been caugit in his own trap.

Whilst she left the room to put oa her bonnet and shawl, Kari T (‘or the reader will have guessed that the young

mak was oo other than our hero)-glanced over the writing of

the girl iv the book, and his eyes filled with tears of emotion and delight as he rewi the outpourings of a pure and pious heart; and when they had left the house together, and she was walking beside him with a dignity of which she seemed entirely unconscious, he cast unon her looks of respect aud admiration.

They first went to Madame Berg, who did not give the advance required, but assured the young man that Bertha was an angel. than the money he had asked for.

> 2

They pawned the book,

« But if you spend al! your money to-day,” remarked the young man, * on what will you live to-morrow ?”

«“[ do not kuow, but I trust in God. I shall work the whole night through.”

«Yes, trust in God firmly, and He will help you,” ex- claimed Karl with av cuthusiasm which almost betrayed the emotion he felt.

When they came to the tavern, the young man went in first to prepare old Mr. Schmidt for the part he wished him to act; then he fetched Bertha. It is impossible to deseribe the joy he felt when he saw the young girl throw herself in her father’s arms, and press him to her heart,

«Q, father,” said she, “‘ what a dreadful night have Thad —how uneasy I have been about you; but, thank God, I have you again;” aud her face brightened up with a smile of joy.

She paid the bill, and triumphautiy led him home. T accompanied them, and said he had a few more kreutzers in his pocket; she had-better go and get them something to eat. Aud then you should have seen this darling girl, how she busied herself, and how she set about it; the young man felt as if he could fall at her feet and worship her. It was late before T went home that night; buat the leap from the Main Bracke was no more thought of. He came to the house every evening, in order, as he said, to share with them his scanty Carnings.

About a fortnight after, as he was going away one evening, he said to Bertha: * Will you become my wife? Lam ouly a poor clerk, but [ am honest and upright.”

Bertha blushed, and cast her eyes to the ground.

“Can you love me, Bertha?” he asked again ia an over- flow of feeling.

She was silent, and did not raise her head; but she held out her hand. [fe seized it, and kissed it fervently.

“ Bertha,” said he, * 1 love you immeasurably ; you have saved my life.”

A few days after, the young couple, simply but respectably attired, and accompanied by Uerr Schmidt, went to church, where they were married in a quiet way. When they came out man and wife, an elegant carriage was standing at the door, and a footman in rich livery let down the step.

“Come,” said the happy husband to his bewildered wife, who looked at him with amazement.

|

; :

“No, good Jew; we wil! shield thee from all! future harm,” said the bashaw, now alimost beside imself with joy. And, descending from his throne, he approached and waruly embraced Oglandi.

“ What pledge wilt thou give me ?” asked the Jew.

“ Qur princely word—nay, our oath.”

* By what will you swear ?”

« By the sacred stone in the kaaba of the temple at Mecca -~by the name of Mahomet and of ° «“ Aud will you keep your oath ?” interrupted the Jew. “If we do not, may we die the most horrible death man

Certainly this praise Mr. T--— valued higher | ean conceive or invent.”

‘The basbaw paused in breathless suspense, awaiting a reply,

> ene Overinvad | ae , Bertha was overjoyed. | while Oglandi stood speechless as a statue.

Tbe bashaw could no longer endure the painfal silence, “Speak, good Jew,” aud tell us where you have your mouey concealed.”

The Jew was immovable as marble—he weighed in his mind the value of the oath. His silence was painful to the anxious interrogater.

* Tell us!” entreated Jussuf. who was now suffering from alternate feclings of hope and fear.

Casting a strange look at the bashaw, the Jew said :

“ Your excelleney first said that you wanted to borrow my money, but now you want me to give it to you.”

“ Your liberty !” significantly replied Jussut, who was so completely elated and assured by the Jew’s actions as now to doubt that he would accept of any reasouable terms to get his freedom.

“T shall surely be sct free ?” again said the Jew.

‘Soon as you tell where your money is to be found, and it is brought here, you shall be free.”

“ Your excellency knows the spot where Galil encamps ?”

“in”

“ Near half a mile cast of it stands two barren date trees

”

‘* Wo have noticed them,” interrupted the bashaw,

“ Between the trees is an oval stone surrounded by a bed of wild sorrel.” And he paused.

“Go on!”

“ And you will surely keep but half of my riches ?

“ Only half.”

“ Well, upon lifting up the stone I spoke of, you will find a second one, which is flat, then a third, and a fourth one. Raising the last stone, you will find a large hole running many feet underground.”

“ Yes—yes, I see.”

“ One day I accidently discovered this place, and thought what a good spot it would be to hide my money in,”

“Enough!” said the bashaw, dancing with delight. « Allah ! my empty treasury shall soon be filled

Tne Bashaw now despatched a number of Turks to unearth and“bring away the hidden treasure.

At the end of an hour the Turks returned, and stated that they could fiad no treasure there.

“ How now, Jew?’ asked the bashaw. ‘“ My men have

Here it is, in | can find it.”

The bashaw now discovered the cunning of the Jew, and

O Lord, I would stiil remain Thine bumble servant. For} ‘Son of a foul Jew dog!” roared the exasperated bashaw,

have an only daughter sacrificing herself for your sake ? “ Yes, sir. What is your pleasure ?” ' what is gold before Thee, that lookest into the heart? Thive|drawing one of the gold mounted pistols from his belt, and

* And with what patience, what sweetness, what love, what; “ Are you his daughter Sertha !”

perseverance! I see her sinking under her toil and her| “I am.” ‘is my heart, and thine it shall remain,’ ” tapping it significantly. ie 43 - deprivations, and not a word of complaint escapes from her) ‘Then it is you that I seek. I come from your father.”| “It is the Lord’s and thine, my beloved Karl,” whispered} “I fear not thy lead,” said the old man, in a calm tone, 4 pallid lips. She works and starves, and sti!] bas alwaysa; “For Heavyen’s sae, where is he? What has happened? Bertha, and sank in his arms. Thea as if speaking to himself, be added,“ Would that I Pie ie I word of love and an affectionate smile for her father.’ ‘Something must have happened—this is the first time he has|__“ Hurrah for the leap from the Main Bracke!” exclaimed | had the strength of youth !” 4. if. E - a ‘Sir, and you want to commit suicide! Are you mad?’ stayed away all night.” |T , embracing bis father-in-law. | “ And what if thou hadst ?” ES Ae”